


Signs

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Series: Signs [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Martha's Vineyard Sign Language AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: On Martha's Vineyard in the nineteenth century, deafness is common.  But for the Mulder family, interaction with the world on the mainland poses new challenges.





	Signs

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a discussion about Martha's Vineyard Sign Language at TXF Fic Write-In.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

They run down to the beach together, their eyes on the waves.  The sea is rough today; the wind is strong.  They stop when they reach the sand, out of breath.  Samantha’s hands are moving. _It’s over that way.  Rose told me.  All the driftwood from the storm._

 _Let’s go then_ , he signs, and they make their way towards the place.

There are other children there already, gathering up choice pieces.  Samantha’s friend Rose and her brother Joseph, Edward who sits next to him at school, the Montpelier twins.  _You can’t take all the big pieces_ , Joseph signs.

 _Let us have that one_ , Rose adds; she’s speaking and signing simultaneously as she looks from Joseph to Eunice Montpelier.  She catches sight of him and Samantha then, and she waves.  They wave back.

 _We need flat pieces_ , he tells Samantha.

 _And some sticks_ , she suggests.  _Sticks would be good._ They have a fort in the yard, and they add to it whenever they can. 

They pick up pieces, consider, collect.  The others are doing the same.  He sees Edward’s lips moving as he says something to Rose.  _He’ll help us carry them_ , she tells Joseph.

He and Samantha have all the pieces they want.  They wave goodbye to the others, who wave back, and they start back towards the house.  Once there, they add to their fort, giving each other an occasional direction but mainly using their hands to place the wood. 

They sit in the fort together.  Samantha’s using a stick to draw in the dirt.  _What is it?_ he asks.

_A bird._

_It doesn’t look like any bird I’ve ever seen._   She makes a face at him.

They sit in the fort until dinner time, when their mother comes to find them, to tell them _Both of you come inside_.

 

Father’s friend from the mainland is some kind of doctor.  He thinks.  He doesn’t know very much about the man.  When he comes to visit, he and Father speak aloud, and none of the rest of them can understand.

He thinks the man is a doctor though, because one time he gave him and Samantha a hearing test.  He didn’t see the point of that.  Everyone knows they’re deaf.  Maybe, being from the mainland, the man didn’t understand.  There aren’t so many deaf people there.  Here on Martha’s Vineyard, there are plenty, even just in their town—him and Samantha and Mother, Rose’s brother Joseph, Miss White at the library, both the Busbys, the oldest of the Clark boys.  It’s not something they spend a lot of time thinking about.  Everyone knows the signs, from when they’re very little; at school they use both in the classroom, signing and speaking aloud.  There’s no one he can’t make understand him.  It’s not like that on the mainland.  That’s what Mr. Busby told them, after he and Mrs. Busby went to visit Boston.

So maybe that’s why the man wanted to give them a hearing test.  _Raise your right hand if you hear a sound_ , his father told him.  He didn’t raise his right hand.

 

There’s a new school in Connecticut.  It’s only for deaf people.  They use signs at the school, but not the same ones they use here: the signs the teachers use come from France.  _And some of the students might have their own ways of signing_ , Mother tells them.  _Everyone can learn from each other._   They’re discussing this because one of them is going to go.  Him or Samantha. 

Their parents go back and forth about it for a while, but eventually they decide that he’s going to be the one.  _Because you’re older_ , Father tells him.  _Maybe someday you’ll go too, Samantha_.  From the way he’s looking at them, he seems to believe that they will be delighted with this plan.

That night, Samantha comes and sits on his bed.  The candle is burning low, but he can still make out her hands easily.  _I don’t want you to go away_.

 _I don’t want to go away either._   He thinks he’ll like some parts of it; he’s curious about these other ways of signing that he’s going to see.  But he doesn’t like that they can’t go together.  _I’ll miss you._

 _Will you write to me?_ she asks.

 _Of course,_ he tells her.  _I’ll tell you all about it.  And when I come home to visit I’ll show you what I learned._ She smiles at that.  _You’ll be all right with everyone here.  And if anyone bothers you, you can write to me about it and I’ll fight them when I come back._   That’s not a very good arrangement, he thinks, but he’ll do it anyway.  He’s her older brother; fighting people who bother her is his job.

She nods.  _Good.  But I’ll fight them first._

He grins.  _Mother will be upset if you get your dress dirty._

_I don’t care._

She’s always brave.  Maybe she will be all right without him, and maybe someday they’ll be in school together again.  He hugs her then, and she hugs him back.

They get a trunk down from the attic, for him to take to school. 

 

One night, a door slams hard, and feet pound down the hall.  The reverberations reach him in his room.

 

Now their parents have changed their minds.  Samantha is going to go away to school instead of him.  _Because you’re younger,_ Father tells Samantha.  That doesn’t make any sense, because before he was going because he was older.  He asks about it, and Father tells them that the younger you are, the more you can learn.  That seems very unfair, because he wants to learn a lot of things, and why should Samantha be able to learn more things just because she’s eight and he’s twelve?  He tries to ask about that too, and Father signs quickly: _No more questions_.  Then he walks away to where he can’t see their hands.

They take all of his things out of the trunk and put them back in his room.  They put Samantha’s things in instead.  Her dresses.  Her stockings.  Her doll.  He lets her take their checkers set.  Mother looks in at them packing once, but very quickly.  Then she goes away.  She’s worried about Samantha leaving, he thinks.

On the last night, Samantha comes up to his bed when they’re supposed to be sleeping and taps his shoulder.  He sits up and lights the candle on the table.  _You weren’t asleep either,_ Samantha signs.

_No._

She’s got something tucked under her arm; it’s the checkers set.  She must have taken it out of the trunk.  He wants to tell her that she should take it, really, when she signs, _Will you play checkers with me then?  One last time before I go?_

_Yes._

He’s tired—it’s late—but he still tries to play his best.  He’s better at checkers than she is, even if she loves it.  She starts to sign to him again, probably to distract him from the fact that she’s losing.  _I’ll write to you every week._

 _I’ll write back,_ he tells her.

_What do you want me to write to you about?_

_Everything.  Tell me what it’s like there.  Tell me what you learn._   Maybe through her letters, he’ll at least learn something about what a different place is like, about other ways of getting along in the world.

She moves a piece.  _I’ll miss you so much._

_I’ll miss you too.  Especially beating you at checkers._

She doesn’t even look mad when he tells her that, though: just worried.  _What if I don’t like it there?  What if it’s bad?_

 _Then write to me about that too,_ he tells her, _and I’ll ask Mother and Father to bring you home._

_What if they won’t?_

He thinks.  _Then I’ll come and bring you home._   He doesn’t know how easy that would be—to take a boat to the mainland all by himself and then probably a horse to go find Samantha.  But he would give it everything he has.

 _You promise?_ Samantha asks.  She’s only eight, after all; she doesn’t know that it might be hard.

He would do it, yes, no matter what, no matter how many times he had to try.  _I promise._

_Good._

He jumps her piece and gets to the end of the board.  _King me._

Now they’re both getting very tired.  They move the pieces slowly, sleepily.

 

They all go down to see Samantha off in the morning.  Father’s friend is going to take her on the ferry, because he has to go back to the mainland anyway.  He lives near where the school is, so Samantha will go with him.

Father embraces Samantha and tells her to be good and to do as she’s told.  Mother is next; she can’t sign anything more than _Goodbye_ before she has to put her handkerchief to her face.

He hugs Samantha too.  _I’ll miss you,_ he tells her again.

 _I promise I’ll write to you,_ she signs, _and I’ll tell you everything.  All about what I learn and whether I like it._ He knows she’s thinking about what he promised her last night; he squeezes her hands between his to affirm it.

She goes then, stepping towards the ferry.  It’s a bright, sunny morning; as she turns to wave goodbye one last time, she’s caught in the light.

He waits and waits and waits for the letters.  He takes to haunting the dock, looking for the mail boat as it comes in.  She was going to tell him if she didn’t like it, so that he could go and bring her home.  Maybe he should go.  He thinks she must not like it, wherever she is.  He doesn't think she's even at the school.  She promised to write and tell him everything, and she wouldn’t break a promise if she could help it.  But he never, never gets a letter, and she never, never comes home.


End file.
